


to be sated

by kagako



Category: Final Fantasy 15, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff, Frottage, Kind of rough sex but it ends up soft lol, M/M, Sexual Frustration, for the most part??? UH KIND OF, noctis is annoyed at everything and he wants to kiss iggy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 02:51:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17113052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagako/pseuds/kagako
Summary: They’re on their way to Lestallum when Noctis almost snaps.-Noctis wants what he wants.





	to be sated

**Author's Note:**

> hello! This is my first ignoct/ff15 so please have mercy on me. this, like so many other fics, has been sitting on my computer for ever and its just about time i finished it... and the summary pretty much speaks for it.
> 
> in this house we love ignoct.
> 
> thank you and enjoy!

They’re on their way to Lestallum when Noctis almost snaps.

It’s too hot—the sun is merciless against them, and there is no wind to provide any sort of comfort, and the dust that gets in his eyes isn’t too pleasant, either. The Regalia is too sticky against him—she is beautiful and gets them wherever they wish to go, but the leather seats are too much for Noctis’s tolerance and the horrid heat.

It’s a bit loud for his liking, too—Prompto is his best friend, and has been since high school, but now Noctis is wondering whether or not he should take away his vow of friendship (not that that ever happened—he’s speaking hypothetically, of course). He’s a busy-mouth, talking non-stop about anything and everything he sees—the mountains, chocobo’s, about seeing Iris again, when the next time they will visit Cindy is, even though they just left Hammerhead, and whether or not they will actually spend gil on a room or find some place to camp. The c _lick click click_ of his camera isn’t that welcomed, either, if Noctis could say so himself—but he lets it side, for now, since Prompto asked him what he’d like pictures of, to which Noctis automatically responded, _Ignis._

Gladio is alright—he had been asleep for most of the ride to Lestallum, but a sleeping Gladio is still a rather unpleasant Gladio. He talks in his sleep, sometimes, and he stretches out extravagantly although the Regalia really isn’t a bed, nor is she meant to be treated as one. So, no, Noctis can’t really complain about Gladio, although he’d really like to—he’s been asleep and quiet, despite the usual mumbles of sleep.

Noctis is furious at Ignis, too, or maybe he’s just sexually frustrated, because it’s been weeks since they’ve been alone, and even on the nights were Prompto and Gladio crash like airships against the ground, Ignis murmurs that they mustn’t, that they’d be too loud, that they’d get caught. Noctis always had a little thrill in the pit of his stomach at the thought, ever since Prompto walked in on them being for too close than a prince and his advisor should’ve been.

 _At least we had our pants on,_ Noctis had supplied, and in turn Ignis gave him a scowl that wasn’t the least bit friendly.

“Are we there _yet?”_ Prompto pipes up. The noise pulls Noctis back into reality, and he really thinks he should be able to tape Prompto’s mouth shut—he’s their prince, is he not? Gladio remains relatively still beside him, his legs spread out and his neck is bent in what looks like an uncomfortable position, but Noctis isn’t the guys mother so he doesn’t bother. Ignis is visible in the rearview mirror, for Noctis—he sees squinted eyes behind clean glasses, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, and suddenly Noctis really just wants to get off.

“Yeah, specs, are we there yet?” Noctis grits out.

Ignis only blinks, and says, “Just a moment.”

The words are so simple—said in everyday use, casual and void of anything but the essence _of_ casual, but there’s something about Ignis’s voice that just makes Noctis—

“See the buildings there?” comes Ignis’s voice.

“Don’t tell me—!” Prompto’s energetic, brimming with excitement.

“Lestallum.”

 _“Lestallum,”_ Noctis mocks. His brows shoot upward as his eyes widen just before he rolls them.

“Man, it feels like this place has changed. It’s almost unrecognizable,” Prompto sighs.

Ignis gives him a questionable look, and says, “It most certainly has not changed.” Then, before Prompto could respond, he adds: “Let us find a place to park.”

 _“Let us find a place to park!”_ Noctis mumbles under his breath as he kicks Gladio’s boot. “C’mon, Gladio, slumber party’s over.”

“What?” comes Gladio’s awakening mumbles.

“You heard me.”

Gladio groans just as Ignis turns off the engine—and it’s deafening, really, and rather annoying. Noctis does his best to keep to his own mind, off in his own little world where it’s just him and Ignis, maybe a hand touching _there_ and lips pressed against _here,_ and—“That drive almost killed me, Ignis.”

“How would you know?” is Ignis’s smooth reply, followed by a, “You were dead to the world the entire time.”

Prompto laughs as he fiddles with the camera. Noctis hears the faint c _lick, click_ along with Prompto’s voice, but Noctis isn’t paying attention, nor does he particularly care. His eyes glide over to Ignis, who stands so casually that it kind of pisses Noctis off. The sun makes his hair gleam, and he really doesn’t know why it’s so attractive, but it is.

“So,” Gladio yells, as if to stop Prompto and Ignis from laughing at him, “get some grub, or off to the lodge?”

“Either or,” Ignis says.

“Lodge for me. I’m _tired_ ,” Noctis pipes up. He means to say it forcefully, as if the secret meaning behind his message will get across to Ignis, but if it does, Ignis betrays nothing.

“What about Iris?” Prompto asks, and if he had a tail, it’d be wagging.

Instead of opening his mouth and forming words with his tongue, Noctis groans.

“I’m sure she will ask someone to accompany her to dinner,” Ignis says, to which Prompto sighs dreamily at, which in turn has Gladio gifting him an elbow to the ribs.

It’s then they hear the familiar call of _“Gladdy—!”_

Noctis is unsure whether or not it is a blessing, or an upcoming disaster. It seemed like perfect timing for either option.

“Iris?!”

“Iris—!”

“Ah. Good evening.”

“ _Gladdy,_ have you not been getting my messages?” Iris demands, pout on cue. It makes Prompto melt, and kind of disgusts Noctis. “I had no clue when you guys would be here, so I completely missed out on dinner.”

If it were possible, Noctis thinks that Prompto would have turned into a puddle. As the words make another round through Prompto’s head, he starts hitting Noctis on the arm, eccentric as he squeaks, _“dude! Duuuude, dude dude this isn’t happening, is it? Oh, but it is!”_

It would almost be comical, if Noctis didn’t have the urge to kill Prompto on the spot.

“I-I-Iris! I would absolutely so enjoy taking you to—or well I mean, uh, treating you? Or, uh—“

“Yeah,” Gladio interjects. He smacks Prompto on the back of the head as he moves beside Iris. “Prompto and _I_ will take you to dinner. Prompto’s treat, of course—he was too busy charging his phone, while mine died. Sorry about that.”

“ _Oh,_ really?!” Iris is delighted, and the pitch of her voice makes it obvious. “That’s great!” In the back of his head, Noctis knows Iris is really just a sweet girl that loves her brother and his friends, but then he remembers the ride here and how Prompto really wouldn’t shut up about her for two seconds—and, he’s back to pissed off again. “Noct? Ignis? Are you coming along?”

“No, I’m tired; long trip.” Noctis is thrilled he kept his reply to a five word minimum. He can’t help but glance toward Ignis, and Noctis is surprised as their eyes meet. His body clams up, his eyes widen a little and he’s sure Ignis knows what’s on his mind, what’s bothering him, and what’s making him so _bitchy,_ as Gladio would put it, in the first place. Noctis tries to keep cool, but he can’t help it as his eyes scream what’s on his mind.

It seems like ages, for Ignis to open his mouth and speak up.

“I’m afraid not. It was a rather taxing drive.”

If Noctis could have, he’d have celebrated right then and there.

***

When the door clicks behind them, Noctis attacks.

His hands curve against the back of Ignis’s neck, coaxing him in—and he doesn’t mean to groan when their lips finally touch, but it’s been so long that Noctis can’t contain himself. There’s a primal urge to rub, to taste, to _fuck_ —it’s all too real, too strong, and Noctis almost feels faint. He can feel Ignis against him, warm and hard, his hands on Noctis’s hips, his breath just as short as his own.

“Ignis—“

He’s desperate, and hard, and really Noctis just thinks he will _die_ if Ignis doesn’t fuck him soon, and—

“Noct—“

There’s something about the heat between them that makes the two of them get lost in each other. Noctis moves his hips, grinding, experimenting, searching for the right speed and pressure that he knows will make Ignis just as desperate. A groan rips through Ignis’s throat when Noctis finds it, and there’s a laugh here, low and taunting. Noctis thrives off of the look on Ignis’s face; his dick aches, and his nails dig into the base of the other’s skull.

He thinks he has the upper hand—it tastes sweet on his tongue, the way Ignis’s head lolls backward against the door, the way his eyes flutter, the way his mouth opens only to allow a moan escape. Noctis could get drunk off this, but there’s a strange feeling as Ignis squeezes his hips—and Noctis wants to fight back, because he just knows Ignis is fighting, too; but then there’s this thrill in his stomach and he feels as if they are on fire, as his back hits the bed and Ignis topples onto him, lips to neck and a palm to his dick.

Noctis shows as much of his neck as he can, mouth open in a groan as Ignis rubs him through his clothes. He rolls his hips, trying for more, and laughs when Ignis grants him with it—would he ever say no? _“Ignis—“_ He claws at Ignis’s shoulders, scraping his nails downward and then up, and his legs shake from the sensation, his brain barely functioning because it’s just been _too long_.

Ignis stays like that for a while, knows how much Noctis likes the feel of weight against his chest, and a certain pressure against his dick. It’s uncomfortable, the way his clothes rub against his own skin, almost like a burn, but when he mouths at Noctis’s throat, feels the pulse stutter against his tongue, he figures that it’s okay.

There’s tenderness between them, even if a primal urge still lingers. There are soft fingertips against sensitive skin, lips that brush against a collarbone, a nose that buries itself on the crown of one’s head and fingers that thread through. Noctis aches with want—really, he does, and if he could scream it, he would, but the warmth that blooms alongside the steady stream in his chest isn’t that bad, either—but soon, the stream becomes known again, and his dick twitches against Ignis’s thigh, and Noctis feels himself lose it.

He claws into Ignis’s shoulder, and he isn’t sure where this sudden burst of strength comes from, but it’s there as Noctis pushes Ignis back, as he climbs to straddle his hips, hand on Ignis’s shoulder as if to say, _stay down._ The look in Ignis’s eyes ignites a fire in Noctis’s blood, and the heat that seeps inside causes too much emotion in one hit and it leaves Noctis dizzy. He trails a hand down Ignis’s chest, fingertips scratching at the buttons.

“Ignis.”

“Noctis.”

The prince in question can’t help the rush that overcomes his body. His hips move on their own, grinding down, cloth against cloth, and it’s agonizing—but there’s something so irresistible about the sensation that makes Noctis want to go harder. His hands aren’t sure where to go: Ignis’ chest, his shoulders, his throat—all of it is so _tempting_ and Noctis feels his mind reeling.

He leans forward, hips still rolling—slowly, slowly, _just a little bit more_ , he thinks. Noctis wants Ignis to crack, to snap, to lose his composure and dig his fingers into his hips like it was a lifeline. “Ignis,” he murmurs tauntingly, brushing his lips against the corner of his mouth. “Ignis, Ignis.”

The man beneath him groans. There’s desperation lining his body—every muscle strains and his hips press upward, and Noctis has to swallow a laugh, it’s too endearing, it’s _too much, too much._ His mind feels the motions underneath as much as his body does, and there’s something inside Noctis that snaps instead, causes his nails to claw into Ignis’s shoulders, his teeth to sink into the curve of his neck. Noctis wants to be sweet—he wants to be nice, to praise the man under him and to be praise in return, but there is _just something there—_

Ignis moans, breathy and choked, yet the bite doesn’t faze him. He lolls his head to the side, giving Noctis access. Ignis feels something give just as a strange noise greets his ears, and it takes him a moment to realize Noctis popped the buttons off of his shirt—and he wants to get angry, _they are packing light after all,_ but once he feels Noctis’s mouth on his chest, the words are lost on his tongue.

Noctis loves the feel of Ignis under him, would have him there forever, if he could. He kisses at the other’s chest, palm sliding against taunt muscles and smooth hips. He wants to say, _clothes off, now now now—_ but his mind is blank and he isn’t sure he could form a coherent sentence. Ignis’s hands trail from his shoulders and downward along his shirt, tickling at his sides and Noctis can’t help but laugh a little as he nuzzles against the other’s ribcage.

“Noctis,” Ignis says, and the guy in question can’t help but sigh a bit. Ignis sounds just as breathless as he feels. “Clothes.”

 _Count on Specs to be able to stay coherent,_ is what Noctis thinks, but what comes from his mouth is a noise he wasn’t sure he’s ever made before.

***

Noctis chokes back a moan when the fingers inside him reach j _ust_ right.

“I’m—fine, now, now,” he demands, and if he could, Noctis would be glaring, and his eyes would be on fire, and Ignis would listen to him.

“Not yet.”

Noctis tries to squirm, to get away from his fingers, but the hold Ignis has on his hip is making it near impossible—sometimes he forgets just how strong Ignis is. It’s not as if he doesn’t like it— _gods,_ does he ever—but it’s been ages, and he’s growing impatient, increasingly so. As his knuckles whiten further and further against the sheets, he wonders if Ignis is torturing him.

_“Ignis.”_

The laugh that greets Noctis’s ears is almost unbearable; it’s low and a bit taunting, but there’s a hint of love, always. Ignis is gentle as he takes his fingers back. “I apologize. Perhaps I am just too fond of that part.”

Noctis hates the way his body shakes ever so slightly, and he throws his forearm across his eyes like it’ll protect him. “I can…” a pause here as he tries to regain himself, “tell. I can tell.” He doesn’t retort when his legs are maneuvered, and especially not when he can feel Ignis’s thighs against the back of his own. “Ignis,” Noctis murmurs, just because he can—and he reaches for Ignis, settles his fingers on the back of the other’s neck. There’s an urge to hide, but Noctis swallows it down as Ignis opens his legs a bit more, as he glances up to make sure Noctis is okay—and it makes Noctis want to laugh.

“I swear, Ignis,” Noctis laughs, breathless and teasing. “If you plan to do anything except put your dick in me, you’re getting beheaded tomorrow.”

“Then, I can’t disappoint, can I?” is all he says before he begins to press forward.

Immediately, tension rolls off Noctis’s body in waves. It’s too much, it’s been so long—he feels Ignis inside him, all around him—from the breath against his temple, to the way his arms shake ever so slightly, to the pulsing that just _proves_ it’s been too long, even for Ignis.

He doesn’t realize he’s been saying the other’s name until Ignis laughs, and the expression on his face makes Noctis feel so many things. He opens his mouth—he isn’t sure why for: a retort, a snarky question, but what escapes instead is a moan as Ignis settles to the hilt inside him.

“Oh, _fuck.”_

Above him, Ignis struggles for control. He knew how long it had been, and he took pride in how well he was able to control his impulses, but facing the actual thing was proving to be more difficult than he had anticipated. Noctis is warm all around him, everywhere that his being begins and ends, and it’s a wonder that he hasn’t caught on fire yet. Ignis balances himself on one hand, allowing his left hand to settle on Noctis’s cheek, and downward to his chest, his ribs, and the soft hairs above his dick. Ignis moves slowly, deliberately, and lust seems to electrocute his body each time Noctis’s eyes roll back, each time his mouth gives way to a moan, and every time he tightens around him.

“Touch me,” is barely audible.

His hips thrust forward as his fingers circle Noctis’s dick. Beneath him, Noctis twitches—his muscles tense up only to relax again, and his mouth falls open as Ignis twists his wrist just as his hips roll against him. His nails dig into the skin of Ignis’s back and Noctis can’t help it when he buries his face in the crook of the other’s neck, his moans muffled by heated skin.

_“Ignis—“_

He lets the walls fall the tiniest bit. Ignis takes secret pleasure in the way Noctis opens himself up—such a reserved man, and he only allows Ignis to see him so vulnerable; it’s a strange feeling, having this particular power over Noctis, but it never ceases to make his blood boil. Ignis straightens his spine, gently hushing his prince’s growls of complaints, one hand on Noctis’s dick while the other is splayed on his thigh. His thrusts gain speed, his touches become daring and his mouth tells Noctis words of praise and of love. It’s too much, really, just how much Ignis adores his prince.

“Noctis—“

Noctis reaches out, fingertips barely able to graze the skin of Ignis’s chest. His body burns as Ignis leans forward, making it all the more easier for Noctis to touch him, and there’s a pause in the moment as he gives a breathy laugh. Noctis presses his palm against the other’s chest, marveling in the way Ignis’s heart goes on and on.

“Me, too—“ he breathes, digging his heels into Ignis’s back. He’s terribly close, too close for comfort and he wants this to last, but Ignis moves his hips just right and it’s difficult for Noctis to hang on. He isn’t sure how he did it, but he’s got Ignis’s hand in his own, palm curved against his knuckles; and he’s sure this isn’t making much sense, but there’s significance here as he settles the palm of Ignis’s hand against his heart.

He wants to say, _they beat the same—_

Instead, Noctis comes undone in Ignis’s hand, and his body convulses more than usual as Ignis does, too.

***

Noctis wakes before Ignis, which in itself is unusual.

He lies awake for a moment, watching the dim shadows dance together throughout the room. It can’t be too late nor too early—off in the distance, he hears the cheers of a party, and close by down the alleyways he hears drunken laughter.

Usually, it would annoy him—but in this moment, Noctis feels at ease.

Ignis is warm beside him, breathing steady, and the sight almost makes Noctis want to wake him up. A hand here, his mouth there, his hips slow just Ignis likes; but Ignis is so peaceful, the shadows smooth against the bridge of his nose and the curve of his lips.

There is something warm in Noctis’s chest, and he dares to call it love.

His eyes soon adjust to the dingy lighting, and Ignis’s features become prominent. Noctis stares for what feels like hours. His fingertips are feather-like as they trail along the other’s arm, and back up along his neck and jaw. Noctis rests the pad of his thumb on Ignis’s bottom lip, careful as he scoots closer. Ignis is oblivious to his touches—his breath deep and even as it meets Noctis’s skin.

Noctis doesn’t fight his smile, and decides to call it love.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!


End file.
